


in violent symphonies

by saltfics



Series: in silver linings scattered [2]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Gen, Henry Needs A Hug, Light Angst, M/M, POV Henry, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics
Summary: “So that’ll be a fun surprise. Any chance your brother’s friends are actually… you know… any fun?”Henry halts to a stop halfway out the door, his mind screeching like a shaken record. He can feel the pull of his memory towards things he doesn’t want to think of, feels the heavy weight of it as he forces himself to focus on something else, fast so he won't acknowledge towards which twice locked door his thoughts are wandering.Sequel to In White (but could potentially be read without it).When Henry and Alex return to England for the christening of the new baby prince, Henry finds out his nephew's new godfather might be a terribly familiar face.Sometimes it doesn't matter how deep you lock away a memory if it insists on showing up at your door. (But maybe you can ask for help to keep it out.)
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: in silver linings scattered [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838530
Comments: 85
Kudos: 305





	1. we drag our chains, our sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I... did this. For reasons.
> 
> If you didn't read in white before this and don't want to (fair) the things you most need to know is that a) Philip has a son and b) they've had some rather unpleasant conversations but there are on the road to reconciliation because of it. 
> 
> If you did read in white before this and want to know where this stands because the thing that would have explained that ending is a whole can of worms I really did not feel like opening (sorry!) this takes place _after_ what would have been the explanation for the final chapter. So there are hints that _something_ happened but at this point, we're not going to be describing them. Sorry!
> 
> (And if anyone is reading these markings too and what is (affectionately?) referred to as the 'stairs' fic, this is before that. I've really screwed up my timelines, I know ^^; )

A buzzing from his pocket stirs him from his sleep, but he doesn’t reach for it. There’s a head resting on his shoulder, brown curls tickling his cheek, and the list of things worth disturbing this tender peace between them is too short to include one random buzz. He pries one eye open regardless.

Outside the airplane’s windows, the sun is low and fading away from their side of the world. The ground below them is covered by a thick blanket of clouds, shadowed and impenetrable as if to remind him of the weather they’ll have to face when they land. After such a hot summer, he won’t exactly mind the rain, if he’s honest.

Alex shifts against his side, a sleepy mumble slipping from his parted lips. He’s drooling on him a little, but Henry can’t find it in him to tell him to stop. With one hand he starts playing with the few wayward curls that stick out, knowing very well how it will mess them up even more, much to his boyfriend’s chagrin. He fishes the phone out of his pocket with the other, just in case.

[Bea]

_Pip’s asking for your ETA_

_Why doesn’t he ask me himself?_

Two minutes later there’s another buzz.

[Philip]

_Good evening, Henry. I hope all is well._

_Are you on your way here? Do you have an estimate for your arrival?_

If Alex ever sees his brother’s preferred style of texting, he’ll throw a fit. After years of avoiding confrontation, he’s finally going to punch Philip in the face.

_About two hours. Why?_

[Bea] 

_Mum wants us to have dinner together. If you and Alex are up for it._

_What are you two doing_

_and why am I speaking with both of you?_

_I figured if Alex saw Pip’s texts he might jump off the plane._

_That’s fair._

_Yes. What’s not fair is that I told him as much_

_and now he’s droning about the proper use of language in communication._

_Enjoy. See you in two hours._

_ <3 u bby !!! c u soon!! _

_Sorry, I needed him to see that._

Henry puffs a quiet laugh that barely lifts the corners of his mouth, but it’s honest, and it weighs less than it has in a while. They haven’t all been together in the same place again since _that_ whole fiasco, which wasn’t even all that long ago, but he’s tired of going back and forth to England to face a new disaster every time. At least this is a joyous occasion. And after far too many uncomfortable conversations with his brother, perhaps this time he’ll get to enjoy it as one.

He tries to put the phone back in his pocket and fails three times before he dumps it on the seat across from him.

“What’s going on?” Alex mumbles, probably disturbed by Henry’s movements. “We there yet?” he yawns, stirring awake.

“Sorry, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on his curls. “We still have a couple of hours left. Go back to sleep.”

Alex rubs the sleep from his eyes, then shifts in his position, resting his chin on Henry’s shoulder to look out the window. “Are you nervous?” Alex asks, nudging him gently on the cheek with his head.

“I’m trying not to be,” Henry admits. “You can’t exactly blame me. We’ve been to England twice in the past few months and they’ve both been…”

“A total shit-storm?”

“… So to speak.”

“Yeah, can’t blame you for that. But hey,” he adds, taking Henry’s hand in his own. “The drama should be over, right? You and Philip get along… _ish_ … And the wicked old crypt-keeper you have for a queen is not going to bother you again, or I swear this time I’ll actually fight her.” Henry chuckles, squeezing their intertwined hands. “We’ll just go, hang out with Bea, play with your cute nephew, attend the ceremony and get the _fuck_ out of there before anyone has a chance to fuck it up. Okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great!”

“A bit too perfect, if we’re being honest.”

Alex groans hiding his head into the crook of his neck. “I _know_ . Let’s enjoy these last few moments of peace. I have to admit I’m a little curious as to how things will get fucked up _this_ time.”

“Your confidence went from a hundred to zero extremely fast, love.”

* * *

They wanted to be discreet at the airport, so his family is waiting to greet them at Kensington instead. Philip, Martha, and the baby are going to spend the weekend there instead of Anmer Hall, and with both Bea and Catherine as well, it’s bound to be a weekend in close quarters with his entire family. For the first time perhaps in his entire life, he’s grateful for the vastness of Kensington Palace. At least the term ‘living under the same roof’ will be used very, _very_ loosely.

And yet all the nervousness that’s been tying knots along his spine fades away at the sight of their welcoming committee, his sister-in-law and the absolute cutest member of his family. Alex nudges him forward, taking Henry’s luggage so he can go greet them.

“Welcome back, darling,” Martha smiles. She gives him a one-armed hug, as her other one is busy holding the sleepy baby that’s curled up against her shoulder. “It’s Arty’s sleeping time soon, so I thought you might like to say hi before that. Baby, look. It’s your favourite uncle,” she coos, and the baby peers curiously at him before stretching out a hand his way, grabbing with his tiny fist.

Martha passes him over and Henry sits him on his arm, careful to cradle his head before he plants a soft kiss on the crown of blond tufts that seem to curl as they grow longer. “Hi, love. Hi,” Henry says in the softest of voices. “Look how you’ve grown already. Did you miss me?” Arty giggles, patting at his face with clumsy movements. “Although, Martha,” he says, turning to her, “I think Alex is the favourite uncle.”

“Damn right,” Alex grins as he comes over to greet Martha as well. “Hey, little guy. You ready for tomorrow?” He tickles the baby’s stomach, his smile widening when Arty laughs in response. “All this attention on you, don’t let it go to your head like your uncle here.”

“When have I _ever—_ ”

“See, it’s bit of a sore spot. Let’s just smile and be cute and he’ll forgive us.” Alex gives the wide-eyed babe a wink before he turns to Henry, all false innocence and exaggerated charm. “Right, Uncle Henry?”

“You’re a menace. Philip should ban you from the palace.”

When the baby starts to get fussy, Martha kisses them both criss-cross on the cheeks and reminds them that they’re all meeting for dinner in an hour. “Oh, I believe your sister has invited Percy as well, and Philip invited the godparents as a thank you for tomorrow.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry it can’t be a more quiet affair, especially considering your trip, but I promise we’re going to keep things intimate after the ceremony, only the family. All right, darling?”

Henry returns the gesture, full of gratitude and a measured joy. He has yet to understand why Martha insists on being on his side, but he appreciates the effort nonetheless. “It’s truly fine, Martha, don’t worry about us.”

“Yeah, worst case scenario we’ll find an excuse to bail,” Alex shrugs, only half-joking.

Martha side-eyes him, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Very well. Just try not to destroy any expensive desserts this time, boys, if you could.”

“That was an accident!”

“My warning stands.”

* * *

There’s barely enough time to wash the plane off their skin in an hour. Especially not the way they do it. The vilest of ghosts in the halls must be having a fit over the way they both jump in the shower at the same time. Alex claims it’s to get ready faster. The end up taking more time than they normally would, enough to enrage an assortment of his ancestors.

Getting ready also becomes a joint effort. That one is new, though Henry can’t say he minds. Because Alex’s hair dries much slower, as soon as he finishes styling his own, Henry ends up with a blowdryer over Alex’s head, gently mussing his curls, while Alex tries to adjust his tie in the mirror. It would be a lot more efficient if Alex didn’t keep leaning backward to leave tiny pecks on the tip of his jaw. Around the fifth time he tries to steal a kiss, Henry points the hot air straight to his face.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll behave,” Alex laughs, squirming.

“I love you, but we’re going to be really late and we have guests over.”

“Technically, _Philip_ has guests over.” He shrugs, tightening the knot on his tie at last.

“ _Alex_.”

“Yeah, okay.” Alex fixes his hair in the mirror himself for a second, before pushing the blowdryer away and reaching up to mess with Henry’s as well. “Stand still—Do you know who the godparents are, by the way?” he asks, fluffing Henry’s hair a bit.

Henry, like the typical hypocrite he knows he is, presses a kiss to his lips instead. When he pulls back, he’s greeted with a pair of narrowed eyes whose judgment is significantly lessened by the smile right below it. “I apologize for the scolding. I can see the temptation now.”

“You fucking _nerd_.”

“And to answer your question, no. From what Bea has told me there’s three of them, though.”

“Three?”

“Yes, it’s typical to pick more than one godparent. Oh, I do believe Bea said one of them is our cousin, but the other two are friends of the parents. Neither Philip nor Martha have said anything about it to me.” He checks the time on his phone, suddenly glad the dinner is happening in the palace grounds within walking distance.

“So that’ll be a fun surprise. Any chance your brother’s friends are actually… you know… any _fun_?”

Henry halts to a stop halfway out the door, his mind screeching like a shaken record. He can feel the pull of his memory towards things he doesn’t want to think of, feels the heavy weight of it as he forces himself to focus on something else, fast so he can't acknowledge towards which twice locked door his thoughts are wandering.

“Hen? You good?”

Henry clears his throat. “Fine. I’ve had to socialize with Philip’s friends before,” he says, almost robotically, making Alex raise his brows in surprise. “Some of them are okay. Most of them are as bad as he was. A select few were worse.”

“Do you have any idea who it might be?” Alex asks with caution, still watching him like Henry might give himself away. He doesn’t know Henry won’t even let himself consider what upsets him so.

“To be honest, I hope it’s no one I know,” he sighs. As they make their way towards the reception hall, Henry knows deep within his gut that he’s already wrong.

* * *

They meet at a dining hall in Philip’s apartments. They’re not as late as they thought they were, or maybe his brother took pity and decided to stall, but by the time they arrive, the few guests are still on their feet, a glass of wine in most hands, mingling. He catches a glimpse of Bea chatting with their cousin Addie, but before he can make his way over there to say hello, he’s nearly tackled by an armful of Pez.

“Hello, darling,” he says out loud, yet when his arms go around Henry’s shoulders and Pez leans closer to his ear, he whispers, “You have a problem.”

Henry returns the hug, gripping the glossy purple fabric of his overcoat a little too tight and a moment longer than what is socially appropriate. Pez’s hair is a fresh, bright bubblegum blue and it still retains the barest scent of dye. “Don’t I always?” he sighs. “We’ve been here for less than two minutes. What could I have possibly done already?”

Pez shoots Alex a glance, who has only caught Henry’s side of the conversation. He’s frowning, looking between the two of them in confusion. “You wanna share with the class?” Alex quirks a smile, yet the crease between his brows remains as the tension doesn’t waver.

“Well… it’s more of a _who_ situation.”

“Wh—”

“Henry. So glad you could join us.”

Henry turns at the sound of his brother’s voice, schooling his expression into a smile that’s only half-forced.

Philip strikes an image of the proper gentleman. Pressed suit, perfectly combed blond hair, just the right amount of a smile. Henry hopes he doesn’t pay so much attention to propriety tomorrow. He should really smile this once.

He waits, uncertain, for Henry to nod once before he reaches for an embrace. It’s short and to any outsider, it must look too typical. Henry barely feels the weight of his brother’s arms for a second before he pulls away, but the knowledge of the touch lingers on his shoulders like a mark, as real as the remnant scent of expensive cologne in the air between them. Vaguely, he thinks he recognizes the fragrance, though he can’t fathom why. Philip’s smile twitches out of place then reshapes itself in the time it takes to blink. As automatic and brushed-off as the gesture they shared may look, nothing is simple about the casual touch, nor the way it burrows under his skin, an indeterminate shadow of both good and bad, waiting for the rest of the night to decide if it’ll protect or hurt him.

Alex shakes his hand, his own version of a press smile on his face, still a hundred volts bright. “Hey, man. We didn’t keep you waiting too long, did we?”

“Not at all. We’ll take our seats in a bit. Why don’t I introduce you first? Although I do believe Henry is already familiar with… everyone here? Oh, I don’t know if you remember Grace, though. She was Mazzy’s maid-of-honor.” 

He remembers Grace all right. In fact, he strongly remembers Philip insinuating how much of an appropriate choice of partner the woman would have been for him. 

“Right, of course, you do,” he backtracks when Henry shoots him a look. Apparently Philip remembers too. “I’m… certain you can reacquaint yourselves later.” Philip’s eyes catch on something behind him, and Henry turns too fast, before the introduction he gives or Pez’s tightening grip on his arm can make sense in his mind. “And you must remember Theo—”

_“Theo!” The man sitting next to Henry calls out and ends up ribbing him on accident as he moves to wave towards whomever he’s addressing. “Over here!”_

_Henry shrinks closer to Philip on the other side, which is not an improvement by any measure. “Who’s Theo?” he whispers. He doesn’t realize how curled in he is until his brother shoots him a look to straighten up._

_“He’s…”_

“Theodore Cardale,” the man offers a hand to Alex, a perfect smile shaping soft lips, crooked with boyish mischief.

_“You’re Henry, right?” he grins, and his hazel eyes are alight with mirth and pointed towards Henry alone. “Philip’s little brother? So great to finally meet you.”_

His eyes shift to Henry and his smile parts to reveal a set of teeth that look like they could bite him. That they would if only fewer people were watching. “It’s so great to see you again, Hen.”

Alex frowns at the nickname as Henry freezes. His stomach climbs all the way up to his throat, blocking the words from betraying him. He spent a long time locking memories in rooms, tossing pieces of himself away in his vast tower, hoping no one will try to explore the whole of him and see what lies behind each dirty little secret. But now, as those eyes bore into his, as they travel down the length of his body and he feels the way they imagine him undone, the doors are rattling as though caught in a storm. Daring him to be closer when they break open.

“What are you doing here, Theo?” Henry asks, plastering on a smile that makes Alex take his hand and squeeze tightly. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. He watches as Theo traces the movement with his eyes, before he turns his attention back to him, one eyebrow raised in challenge-like aggression.

_“I don’t think I should be here,” Henry mutters, arms wrapped around himself. His legs are shaking slightly. Don’t embarrass yourself in front of him. Don’t be weak. You’re okay. You’re doing nothing wrong._

_Theo stands in front of him with that gripping smile flashing and ready to bite. He pushes Henry’s fringe away from his face, his fingers stroking the scalp as they smooth over his hair, and he lets his hand rest on the nape of his neck so he can hold him there. Close. Closer. “It’s fine. No one will know.”_

“I heard about you two. Are you officially an item then?” The smile never wavers and his voice is still so deceptively warmth that Alex returns the gesture. “I have to say, Hen,” he adds when Alex confirms it, and he places a hand on Henry’s bicep, lets it trail all the way down his arm, “I was surprised. I didn’t expect you to be…” Theo trails off, tilting his head as if to say _well, you know._

“Gay?” he huffs, his gut coiling at the hypocrisy.

“Brave.”

Alex lets out an offended half-scoff at the accusation, but Henry has felt the word like a slap to his face, leaving him gaping and lost for words. Cold blood rushes through him, spreading a familiar kind of apathetic regret that he buries, letting it turn him cold and stiff and feeling like _nothing_.

But he doesn’t want this. He refuses to be molded this way again, shaped to fit into whichever game Theo feels like playing. His gaze shifts to Alex, who turns to him as if he knows. And he focuses instead on the vibrant light of those brown eyes and the memory of his curls between his fingers. He remembers the way Alex traced every inch of his skin, the way his lips claimed every crook and every mark, every blasted mole peppered along his body as his because he wanted all of him, the scars and the secrets. And for all the time that they had to hide, it was never… never like that.

Henry meets Theo’s gaze and he can feel the thick layer of glass between them, built of years of shame and resentment and ever-present sense of being _measured_ wrong. “Some things are worth being brave for.”

_Teeth pinch the soft skin of his neck and Henry shifts under the touch. He looks down to flushed cheeks and hazel eyes burning intently._

_“I suppose I don’t have to worry about you saying anything, right?” Theo rests his chin on Henry’s chest, grinning. His secret smiles are never crooked. His mischief is never innocent in truth. “You’re beautiful, Hen. My beautiful little secret.”_

Pez’s smile next to him is stretched too thin, plastered with the same passive-aggressive niceness of a service worker about to snap. “Henry is right, of course. And speaking of things not worth it at all, it was so great to see you again, Theodore, but you must absolutely excuse us for just a moment.” He links his arm with Henry’s and drags him away from there, Alex following suit behind after a quick shrug.

“Thanks for that,” Henry sighs the moment they’ve distanced themselves enough not to be heard. Pez pats him on the shoulder, shaking away some of the tension that’s gathering there.

“Hey, guys, quick question: what the _fuck_ happened back there?”

“That was…” Henry shakes his head. “How did you call it? That was the ‘total shitstorm’ we were waiting for.”

Alex shoots him a look at his attempt at an accent.

“That was your nephew’s soon-to-be godfather,” Pez points out. “I hate to say this, babe, but maybe it’s time you and Philip had a conversation.”

“No _._ I’ve had _far_ too many honest conversations with my brother and they’re enough to last me a whole lifetime, not three bloody months.”

“Baby,” Alex says, “what’s going on? Why don’t you want what’s-his-face to be AC’s godfather?”

Heat spreads slowly to his cheeks as he turns to face him. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it when he was speaking to a blank page and an unreachable dream of a love he thought himself destined to lose. But now, with everything in his grasp and a face to the name and the story, it’s… harder somehow to make the connection for him, to stitch the thread and bind himself to the image of that man. Lying to Alex, however, feels wrong. “I… Do you remember the emails? Right, of course you do.” He cringes when Alex looks at him incredulously. “Do you remember what I said about, err… my… my first time?”

“Your… _No_.”

“Yes.”

Alex turns around so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash. He bumps straight to Philip.

Henry chokes on his own heart. Did he hear him?

“Are you all right, mate? You look… nauseated.” Philip asks, shifting his eyes to each of them in turn for an answer only Henry can give. “We were about to be seated if you would care to join us.”

“I-I don’t feel well actually,” Henry gets out, the heat dropping from his now too-pale face to the collar of his neck. “Would you mind if I excused myself? We can have dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Philip can’t hide the flinch of hurt in his face no matter how little it lasts. Henry wants to throw something. This was supposed to be it. They were supposed to be like family for once, spared of the drama that seemed to chase them like a curse. “Are you certain?”

“I—”

“Hen, why don’t you get some air, see if it makes you feel better? Then maybe you can return.” Pez nudges at him, his voice thick with implication. “It’d be a shame to miss such a lovely dinner, I’m sure. I’ll even come with you.”

Henry shakes him off. The _no_ hangs in the tip of his tongue but Philip’s expectant face makes it hard to voice. Trapped like this, he almost misses the times he didn’t give a damn about his asshole of a brother. “I’ll go. By myself. Sorry, Pip.”

“It’s quite all right. It’s more important that you feel better.”

He nods once, kisses Alex on the cheek and flees the room. His heartbeat is loud in his ears the whole time and the idea that he abandoned everyone in there to spare himself the discomfort brings merciless guilt into his stomach to twist it out of shape. Henry takes the stairs two at a time. Maybe the chilly breeze of the impending night can chase away some of the heat that burns him from the inside before it melts all the locks he’s placed on his own memories.

It’s only when the first gust of the air he thought salvation tousles the hair away from his face that he notices.

And he wonders how many times he can possibly flee in the night like a thief from the enrapturing stare of Theo Cardale.


	2. killing out of spite, what I sow

_The moment Theo’s door closed behind him an uninvited cold spread over his limbs, quietened down his heart into a lifeless apathy. But as he returns to his rooms, the first hint of shame breaks through the numbness. Taking off his coat and shoes, he slumps onto the desk chair. The events of the day hold on to his shoulders, dragging him down with their weight. As he lifts his head up, he notices his reflection on the window in front of him, painted in darkened shadows and hidden depths. His hair is tousled beyond salvation and he can’t tell if it’s merely windswept, shaken out of place by an unforgiving night, or pushed and pulled by uncaring hands._

_Something snaps inside him._

_He slaps a hand in front of his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that rattle his chest, bending him over in half. He remembers the touch of him in every inch of his skin and he feels his clothing brush against every sullied spot like it’s rubbing against a raw wound. He wants to take them off, and his skin along with it, scrub himself clean of all the surfaces he touched. And he hates this—the shame coiling in his gut, the regret that lingers in the back of his mind screaming_ why why why _at him, as if he should have known better. And he hates the fact that he still wants it, and how what truly shatters him is not that he was touched, but that he was hidden._

Henry hides where he always does, up in the music room, shut off from the world around him. The click of the door as it slips closed brings him a peace of mind, but the room feels too stuffy all of the sudden, the air too heavy and enveloping. Or maybe he’s the one too big for this place with too many things stacking up inside of him now that the locks are coming loose. All the contents he hid behind the polished doors in his mind are spilling out, showing him what a mess he truly is.

He throws all the windows open, drawing the curtains away to let the moonlight in.

The piano beckons him from the corner. They always meant to get him one for the brownstone but after they forgot about it when they first moved in, they never talked about it again. He sits in front it now, removing the cover with a reverent care; the fondest of his memories are carved in the wood. The saddest ones, too. His mother’s ivory smiles. The ebony black of his own suit jacket pressed against Bea’s equally dark dress, and rain outside the windows to match the somber tone of a song he couldn’t even bring himself to finish. An entire childhood captured in the delicate keys, sprung forth with every sound he recreates.

Henry lets his fingers waver, hesitant before he carefully hits the first note. Then another. He plays with certainty at first, a semi-neutral melody, nothing too cheery, nothing too sad. Just a perfect average of an emotion, for a life of just enough.

He pauses, as if cut mid-song, letting the note linger in the air.

He changes the beat. Slow and haunting. Measured. Pauses again. Then repeats. A hanging note. He breathes, his chest shaking with something overwhelming he doesn’t understand. And he repeats. _Why now?_ Slowly, he repeats. What is it that hurts him _now_? An extra note at the end of the pattern—an exit offered, but it’s high and it’s inviting him to something he’s not sure he can follow.

One more time. He doesn’t steel himself, he doesn’t fight it. He lets his mind relax and follows it.

There’s nothing neutral about the new melody. Nothing perfect or polished. It’s eerie almost, finding refuge in the higher notes, played with an urgency to it that picks up with each repetition. Faster. Angrier— _no_. It’s desperate. Like grasping at something he’ll never reach. He leans forward as he plays, the tip of his fringe brushing the surface of the polished wood, and he plays the melody again and again, in a climaxing sound that ends with no fulfillment, the notes scattered as if uncertain.

He slows, pauses. Tries the beginning again, hoping to find the same energy, so it could help him understand the feeling.

But the notes leave him, trailing into something new he cannot commit to. And he allows it to fade, with one final echoing note to haunt the space around him.

Henry leans back in his seat.

“That was beautiful.”

He flinches forward as if struck.

_“That was beautiful,” comes Theo’s voice from behind him, shaking him out of the high of playing with abandon, when he thought he was the only one in the room._

_Henry turns around, red on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, and the beginnings of a smile curls his lips. “What are you—How did you get in here?”_

_Theo closes the door behind him, turning the lock with it too. “I was visiting your brother. Told him I’d say hi to you before I leave.” He takes a seat on the piano bench next to Henry, their knees touching._

_Henry frowns._

_“You don’t mind that your brother and I are close, do you?” he chuckles, bringing a hand to Henry’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “We’ve been friends for years, it would be odd if I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”_

_“That’s not it.” The touch is so distracting; he closes his eyes against it. “I was just—I was wondering if he knew.”_

_Theo leans forward, kissing the side of his neck. Henry’s back arches. “I-if—that you’re… you know.”_

_He pulls back, watching as Theo gathers himself, a deep scowl on his face. Hot shame flares on the back of his neck, the disappointment in his gaze like a slap to the face._

_“That I’m gay? No, of course not. He’d never understand.” Henry flinches before he can stop it. “Oh, darling, oh, I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds patronizing. Like he’s comforting a child. “You weren’t thinking of telling him, were you? You’re the Prince.”_

_He knows that. He knows that princes are not meant for other princes. They’re meant to get the girl or die trying. All the stories of the ones who broke the mold were kept in obscurity, faded into history without a spark. They would never be the stuff love stories were made of, only tragedies. Like Henry. Like this._

_Theo presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Hey. This is just for us, remember? Just you and me.” His eyes are boring into his, and he wonders if he’s that good at lying that he can speak this way with their gazes interlocked, or if he doesn’t believe himself a liar in the first place. “We don’t owe the world our story. It’s just for you and me. My beautiful little secret.”_

_“But I—”_

_“_ Henry. _” His voice is stern now. No more games. Not if Henry is thinking of telling. “You’ll destroy us if you do. You’ll ruin everything.”_

Henry gasps, a hand coming to wrap around his midsection as the first few tears spill down the sides of his face. _Shit. Shit,_ he thinks, trying to wipe them away. _Not now. Not in front of him_.

“Henry? Are you all right?” Philip asks, and Henry hears his footsteps as he crosses the room, but he still can’t turn to face him, not like this.

“What are you—” He clears his throat, his voice too high-pitched and cracking. “How did you even find me?”

“Bea said you would probably end up here. Alex wanted to come instead, but Percy for some reason insisted that I should be the one to talk to you. What is going on?”

Henry shakes his head, closing his eyes and pushing a fat trail of tears out of place in the process. “You should _go_.” If only he could keep his voice in check.

“Are you _crying_?”

He scoffs, too bitter to let any humour through. “If I said no, would you believe me?”

Philip doesn’t reply. Henry wipes the last few wayward tears from his face, without bothering to hide what he’s doing, and turns around to face his brother. A deep scowl draws lines across his face, and with a shock, Henry realizes it looks different than the sharp edges his disapproval used to take. His eyes catch there, where Philip’s brows are downturned not with anger but remorse, casting the whole expression in a different light.

He doesn’t react to whatever face Henry is wearing, not any more than he already has. He makes a move to sit on the bench next to him, but the memory is fresh in Henry’s mind and the realization of where he’s sitting draws bile to the back of his throat.

He could buy them a new piano bench without having to answer too many questions, right? They wouldn’t question him.

Henry jumps to his feet, heading towards the open window to stick his head out for a few moments, letting the cool breeze play with his hair, dry the trails on his cheeks. It chases the heat away and after a couple more steady breaths, he forces himself to meet Philip’s curious gaze again.

“You should. Er. You should be back at your dinner,” Henry says, shifting his weight from one foot to another, before eventually leaning against the window, posture be damned. If Philip was going to yell at him about something, he was going to do that about three infractions ago. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Philip nods twice, the gesture distracted as his expression trembles out of place. “Right. If that’s what you want.” At Henry’s own answering nod, he straightens his posture, hiding behind a guarded mask. “May I ask you just one thing?”

Stress flares, like a painful flash shooting straight up his spine, but he agrees anyway.

“Was it something I did?”

“What? No. No, it’s—Well, not willingly. It’s—” Oh, he’s going to kill Pez for putting him in this position.

“Willingly? So it is something I did.”

Henry runs a hand through his hair and lets his head drop forward, eyes turned to the ground. A burn mark on the ground catches his eye; he doesn’t remember causing this, and he wonders how many people’s mistakes mark the rooms along with his own. He wonders if a place as cursed as this one could ever manage to hold enough joy to chase away the wrongness that seeps into the floorboards, hides in the dusty corners.

“Henry,” Philip says, even but not harsh. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m certain by this point we’ve had worse conversations.”

Henry huffs. “Not worse than this one.” His hands grasp for the windowsill, fingers curling too tight on the old wood, just to have somewhere to let go of the pressure. When he looks up towards his brother again, he’s taken all the emotion from his face and buried it deep inside him, with the whiteness of his knuckles as the sole sign that he’s slipping. “If I asked you to do something absurd for me, without questioning it, would you?”

Philip frowns. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, awkward and out of place in a situation he can’t yet understand. “Without questioning it?”

“For me,” he nods, driving in the leftover guilt he knows Philip harbors. It’s a cowardly thing to do, but he can bet his life it’s preferable to telling him _why_.

“I—Well… Ah…” Philip falters. Despite himself, Henry smiles sadly at the way he’s trapped between wanting to be good and knowing he cannot afford to promise him everything like this. “It would depend on what that is, I’m afraid.” He takes another step forward when Henry sighs, a hand half-raised in an abandoned attempt to reach out to him. “Tell me what you want. And for the sake of ‘no questioning it’ at the very least, we will never speak of it again if I’m inclined to refuse.”

It’s more than he would have expected from him. “Very well,” he starts but realizes he can’t quite voice it. What are the odds Philip won’t actually ask him? Admitting something you wished to keep to yourself to a person you don’t trust to protect it brings a feeling of regret viler than most and the idea of going through with it sounds less appealing the longer he tries to brace himself for the recoil. But what other choice does he have, save for letting Theo parade around his nephew’s life and worm his way into his family?

“I want you to pick a different godfather for Arty.”

Philip freezes, head tilting a hint to the left. “In place of… Theodore?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” comes the automatic reply and Henry raises a brow, reminding him of his promise. “I’m sorry but if you want me to consider this suggestion you need to give me more than this. Otherwise, your protest is noted but I’m afraid I cannot help you. Not the night before the ceremony.”

“Well, if you had bothered to share the names of the godparents with me at any point since you decided, I would have ‘ _protested_ ’ earlier.”

“It was not your decision to make, Henry, and neither is it _now_ ,” Philip points out, his voice escalating along with the sentence. His back has straightened, the previously reaching hand has curled into a fist at his side. “Besides, I thought you two were friends. You always used to ask after him when you were younger.”

“I don’t want him in this house. I don’t want him near Arty.”

“Again, that is _not_ your decision, he is not _your child_ ,” Philip snaps, the words snatching at a heart-string already frayed.

But Henry ignores the sting, no matter how sharp, and steps forward, dangerously close to his personal space. “You asked me—you _hoped_ for me to tell you when you were doing something wrong. This is me telling you you’re making a mistake. Maybe you could bloody listen to me for once.”

“I do listen to you—”

“No, you don’t! You make a big show of having changed, but the truth is it’s just that. It’s a show!”

Henry’s eyes widen as his own words ring back to him. He watches as the momentary hurt that rippled across Philip’s face hardens into a cold mask the likes of which he hasn’t seen in more than two years now. “Is that what you think?” His voice is sharp with a stony disappointment that burrows deep beneath his skin.

“No, Pip. I don’t.” He doesn’t apologize, but Philip must hear it in his voice, for he deflates, going to the nearest couch and sinking into it. The fight leaves Henry too, yet the desire to keep his family safe from that man still burns like the stubborn flame of a candle, small but bright. “I didn’t leave the dinner tonight to be petty…” He says, sitting on the coffee table in front of Philip, smiling when he gives him a disapproving look. “I left because I can’t be in the same room as him. I can’t.” He rests his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands together in front of him. His gaze sticks there, unwilling to see whatever expression his brother is wearing. “I want—No, I _need_ you to choose me over him.”

Without looking at him, he can’t gauge his reaction, so he’s not prepared for it when he hears him say, “All right.”

Henry’s head snaps up. “Really?”

“Of course,” Philip says, shaking his head in a disapproval that’s much more lighthearted. “When you put it that way. If my choices are to do this for you or risk not having you here again… I just wish you could trust me enough to tell me why.”

He withdraws on instinct, cringing at the idea. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Theo has been my friend for years. If he did something to hurt you, I would like to know about it.”

“Honestly, I thought you would have figured it out already,” he says and realizes that’s true. It was part of the reason he fled. “I thought you read them.”

“Read what?”

“The emails. _My_ emails.”

“I read… some of them. The parts that concerned the Crown and myself, but what does Theo…”

Henry can see the precise moment that realization hits. Like shattering glass, Philip’s confused expression falls, lips parting, eyes widening as the information clicks into place. He swallows hard, tries to say something, but no words come out.

Henry watches as he gets up and walks over to the window, mirroring the exact position Henry held not too long ago. The silence is stiff and heavy between them, tightening around his collar, but it’s nothing compared to the discomfort of finding the right words to talk his brother through this. So he waits.

“Theodore Cardale is two years older than me.”

Henry’s whispered _yes_ barely makes it past the lump in his throat.

“He is _six_ years older than you.”

The words crawl up his spine, making him shiver. He knows. He gets it now, in a way he didn’t then. Still, he’s not prepared for the silent, lurking anger in Philip’s voice, the cutting edge to every sentence like he’s sharpening his voice with every spoken word.

“How long after I introduced you…?”

“Not long,” he breathes, trying not to feel like he’s the one getting scolded.

He sees Philip’s fist clench around the window and Henry really wishes he had thought to just punch Theo and be done with it. The scandal alone might have convinced his brother to change his mind—though he might have finally had enough and kicked Henry out instead. “Can we not discuss this…?” he tries, already knowing it’s in vain.

“Do you have any _bloody_ idea—” Philip all but growls, then shakes his head, attempting to compose himself. “When your emails came out and that- that _line_ when I saw it I asked him about it. Did you know? I fucking texted him. I knew he had read them. That bastard was always a bit too much of a gossip. And I asked him ‘do you have any who it could be?’ See, I didn’t think it could be him. He was so much older than you, and we were good friends, I thought he’d never—”

“Pip, it wasn’t exactly his…” Henry frowns, trails off. What the hell is he saying?

“What? It wasn’t _his_ fault? He was an adult, Henry, it is precisely _his_ fucking fault, though don’t think for a moment that I don’t wish you were smarter than this.”

Henry scoffs, back straightening in place as if ready to fight. Something true rings in Philip’s words, but he’s the last person who should dare to give him guidance now, almost a decade too late for it. “Oh, really? Well, I _apologize,_ Philip, you’re the one who wanted me to hang out with your ‘mates from uni’.”

“I didn’t mean you should _fuck_ them!”

He pushes himself up from his seat, glaring. “Why not? Not proper standing enough for you?”

Philip throws his hands up, bewildered. “Why on earth are you fighting _me_ about this? I’m on your side.”

“Because it sure as hell feels like you’re judging me!”

“I’m judging _him_ , but it was still an incredibly stupid thing to do, Henry, and you _must_ realize that now, otherwise, you wouldn’t be so bloody embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed that I did it, I’m embarrassed to be discussing it with _you!”_

 _“_ Then why are you so against seeing Theodore again?”

“Because it fucking _hurt_!” Henry takes a step back, closing his eyes in defeat as his own arms wrap around his stomach. “It wasn’t a… It was a long, drawn-out, awful thing, the kind that sticks with you. You’re the last person I want to talk to about this, Philip, and surely you can understand why?” He braves a look, feeling cold spread down his back under the scrutinizing gaze of his brother. He tries to hold on to the fact that he explicitly declared that he’s judging Theo instead but his tongue still feels heavy when he speaks, betraying some of the shame Philip was not wrong to accuse him of, even if he never stood a chance to understand it. “But I will ask you to keep him away from me. Please, don’t put that man into your family. Don’t let him near your son.”

Philip sighs, teeth clenched and jaw set like he’s holding something back that Henry is not sure he wants to hear. His eyes are still on him, and he feels judged under the stare, measured with scales that won’t fit him because they were never meant for someone like him. And it’s up to Philip to decide if in that error he’ll find Henry lacking, or just different. It’s up to Henry then to figure out if he cares.

“I—”

A knock on the door startles Philip back into silence. Henry’s pulse skyrockets with newfound anxiety, images of Theo sneaking into rooms he shouldn’t, taking things that weren’t his to hold, rushing into his mind, making his stomach turn.

Alex’s head peeks through the door, a hesitant smile on his face.

Henry breathes a sigh of relief, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Since when do you knock?” he smiles, and it’s all Alex needs to hear to make his way inside and wrap him in a tight hug.

“All good?” he asks with a knowing look when Henry pulls back. At his nod, Alex turns, albeit reluctantly, to Philip, who is watching them both like he wants to say something. “Don’t worry, no murders at your dinner party. _Though it sure would have made it more interesting_ ,” he adds the last part for Henry alone.

Henry raises a brow. “No murders?”

“Yes, I believe Percy may have been the only one holding Alexander here back from wrangling Theodore, though given the circumstances I think I might have allowed it.”

“You would?” Alex all but yelps, voicing Henry’s thoughts exactly.

“Indeed. Has everyone left already?”

“I think they’re all still there, drinking or something.” He turns to Henry, taking his hand in his own. “I asked a member of the staff to send some food to your rooms for you. Do you want to go get some rest?”

Henry lifts his eyes towards his brother who is already moving towards the door. Apparently their conversation is over.

“Alexander is right. You had a long day, and we have another long one ahead of us tomorrow.” Philip pauses before meeting his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. “And… I will take care of it. Although, if needed, would you mind if I asked you for a favour in return?”

Promising favors to Philip holds about as much dread as making a deal at a crossroads, but Henry can’t bring himself to reject it, considering he’s the one who started this. “Sure.”

“Good. I will see you both in the morning.”

A minute after he leaves Alex looks back at Henry, brows furrowed. “Was it stupid of me to assume he’d actually _tell_ you what the fuck the favour is?”

They walk back to his room with their hands intertwined, and all the judgment he felt clinging to him all night finally starts to detach from his skin, leaving the pieces that haunted him forgotten on the steps, out of their doors but unable to harm him. He’s certain they’ll find him again, but he knows Alex will be there when they do, pressing kisses down his neck, taking up the space where the shame would burrow.

As promised, they find a small table set for them inside, and even though his stomach is still in shambles from the stress of the day, he makes the effort to sit down and eat, knowing he wouldn’t get away with claiming a lack of appetite when Alex is already worried.

“We should have just done this from the beginning,” Alex sighs, pouring them each a glass of wine from the bottle the staff so thoughtfully provided for them. “Met your family tomorrow and kept dinner tonight as a more… private affair.” He winks as he takes a sip.

“Ah, yes. Romantic dinner in my room that you hate.”

“Hey. I know a few things that could make your room _very_ romantic.”

Henry chuckles, pushing his food around the plate with his fork. “As unpleasant as this was, can you imagine if we first saw them tomorrow?” He looks up again and adds in a monotone voice, “ _’Prince Henry flees from Prince Arthur’s christening. Is this a protest against the Church of England or show of spite against the new heir to the throne?’_ The media will have a field day.”

Alex’s smile is soft and tender, his eyes bright as they search his face.

“What?” Henry asks, confused.

“Nothing,” he laughs, shaking his head. “It’s just… I don’t think you’ve ever called him ‘Prince _Arthur_ ’ before.” Oh. Sensing Henry’s complete inability to process this, he scrambles to add, “Wait, AC is higher in line than you? If Philip dies, he’s next?”

“He’s heir apparent,” Henry nods. He finds the alcohol is easier to go down than the food so he aims for his glass instead. “I’m the evil uncle who murders his brother then has to find a way to get rid of the trusting prince who sees me as a father.”

Alex chokes slightly on his own breath. “Damn. I didn’t take you for the type.”

“What? I don’t look the part of the villain?” He smirks, full of mischief, tilting his head upwards and to the side as if to look down on him. 

“No, you’re right, baby, you’re very evil.” 

Henry loosens his smile into a grin, but Alex shifts in his seat. 

“Speaking of pure evil,” he starts, and Henry huffs, not unkindly. “What is happening tomorrow?”

Leaning back in his chair, he watches Alex, notices the way the scarce light from the bedside lamp they left on draws the shadows on his face, and he marvels at how soft and safe and _home_ he always feels. “You’ll be with me tomorrow, won’t you?”

“What? _Of course_.”

Henry sighs, chasing all the worry out of him with a gust of air. “Then I don’t care. I hope Philip will listen to me and keep him as far away as possible. But if he doesn’t? I’ll have you with me. And we’ll take care of the rest. Right?”

Alex smiles, nodding with that confidence of his that Henry adores, and makes his way over to him. “Always.”

Henry tugs on his shirt collar, bringing him down to press a kiss to his lips, melting when Alex tangles his hands into his hair. 

There’s no unwanted memory that will vie for his attention again tonight. None of them could come close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... Eyy, I made it fit. We can actually end this story with chapter three! One more to go!
> 
> Also, I doubt anyone will, but if someone miraculously manages to figure out what the hell Henry is playing on the piano in this chapter, you get... idk a 6-8k fic of your choice.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! See you next time~


	3. without respite, challenge me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost the size of the other two combined XD I hope it was worth the wait ^^;

_Henry wakes up cold. The window was left open, and the morning chill brushes against his bare skin where the blanket doesn’t cover him. He wakes, to papers flying off his desk, to clothes scattered on his floor, and to the other side of the bed vacant, the warmth of a body once nested there long gone._

_He sits up, pulling the duvet higher over his chest, suddenly feeling too exposed despite the emptiness of the room. After he drapes it around him for the warmth, he goes to shut the window, then picks up a fresh pair of clothes from the wardrobe, all the while looking around for any sign of the night before, anything but the mess of his floor he made himself, any sign that he wasn’t alone. There’s nothing. So he gathers the discarded clothes and heads to the shower, scrubbing harsh against his skin to erase the traces of the night that apparently remained only on him._

_Once he’s done, Shaan finds him to accompany him for his morning duties. He must notice the heaviness of his shoulders, his mouth seemingly stitched into a grimace. He says nothing, of course, until Henry himself can’t fight back the question any longer._

_“Did you see…?” He trails off, gaze darting away._

_“I did.”_

_“When did he…?”_

_“I believe it was last night.” Henry’s stomach twists and he fights to remain impassive. Not even morning. “He asked if I could call him a car.”_

_He nods, his gaze trained to the hallway ahead of them._

_“Sir? Permission to lean over the line for a minute?”_

_“Of course,” Henry replies on instinct, though it comes out too hoarse._

_Shaan gives him a sideways glance and checks their surroundings before speaking. “If you asked it of me, I would not be disinclined to make sure that certain… visitors weren’t allowed in the palace anymore.”_

_His cheeks redden, more embarrassed than ashamed to be having this discussion. His heart thumps against his chest as he struggles to find an appropriate response. “Is that what you think I should do?” Henry asks, swallowing hard. Even if he knows Shaan has only his best interests in mind, or rather because of it, the implication that what he’s been doing is wrong plays at fears too volatile, precarious enough to cause a cascade._

_“It is not within my position to tell you what to do, Sir. However, my job is to take care of you, and as a part of it, I have to notice what external factors may be… harming you, so to speak.”_

_They stop walking, and Shaan steps in front of him, pretending to brush some dust off Henry’s jacket as an excuse to place his hands on his shoulders. “I won’t tell you what to do,” he repeats, his gaze boring into his, not with anger but soft with concern. “But know that if you do need me to make him stop, I can.”_

The obnoxious sound of his alarm wakes him up, and as he tries—and fails—to untangle himself from Alex’s grip, he wonders if the bargain he made with Philip should have been _himself_ not attending the ceremony after all.

When he reaches for his phone to shut it down, he finds Pez’s name on the screen instead. The alarm might have been less painful.

“What?” Henry groans into the phone.

 _“Oh, I forgot you weren’t a morning person.”_ His grin is audible in his voice.

Henry can’t even bring himself to be annoyed with him, though that might be because he’s still too tired for that.

 _“Well, someone needed to wake you, and I needed to find out what happened yesterday since_ you _never called.”_

Henry tries to push himself to a sitting position, making Alex grumble as he stirs. “I had a horrifying conversation with my brother about my early sex life. Thank you for the ambush.”

 _“Ah, to see the look on Philip’s face,_ ” Pez muses. He knows Henry too well not to figure out he’s not really mad at him. _“Was it worth it? Did he give Theodore the boot?”_

Henry rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep still clinging with enough stubbornness to rival even Alex. “I believe so. He said he would take care of it.”

_“You’re welcome.”_

“I still think there must have been a more painless way to achieve this, Pez.”

_“I suppose I could have let Alex punch him. Then joined him.”_

Henry chuckles. “How is that painless?”

_“Painless for us, Hen, not for him.”_

Alex shifts to lie on his back, throwing a hand over his eyes to block out the light. “Who are you talking to?” he asks, peeking one eye open to look at him. “Everything okay?”

Henry leans down to press a soft kiss to the spot where his cheek meets the edge of his lips, teasing an amused, sleepy hum out of Alex. “Everything’s fine,” he promises and opens his arms for him to cuddle on his side for a little while longer before they have to get up. Alex is warm against him and his curls tickle where they brush against his neck; Henry is content to hold him there for as long as he can.

“Look…” he says, turning the speaker on as he turns his attention back to the phone. “Thanks. You were right and—”

_“Always am, babe."_

“—as uncomfortable as it was, maybe it was better to get it out of the way.”

“Plus, you never have to see Whats-His-Face again,” Alex adds, his voice muffled, face pressed against Henry’s shoulder.

Henry turns to him with an amused smile. “Do you actually not remember his name or do you not deem him worthy of mentioning?”

“Yes.”

 _“He’s not wrong_ ,” Pez says.

“O _kay_ , time to get up and get dressed,” Henry announces, fighting back a laugh. Alex groans. “Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.”

_“And here I was, wondering why you'd start getting dressed so early. Interesting morning routine, boys?"_

“Okay, we're hanging up now, Pez!”

Enough time later to justify getting up so soon, the two of them _finally_ get to the putting-clothes- _on_ part of getting ready, following a shower and other adjacent activities. Alex, in only a pair of boxers, is rummaging through his luggage, while Henry absentmindedly pulls up his trousers as he watches him.

Then, to prove that his ancestors are, in fact, roaming these forsaken halls and are absolutely enraged with him, someone knocks on their door.

Alex shoots him a look that’s supposed to be panicked but wavers too close to shocked amusement.

“Get dressed or go hide,” Henry whispers with a laugh—that’s cut short when the door opens.

Alex dives behind the door, pressing himself against the wall, saved only by the fact that it opened on a 90-degree angle.

Henry yelps, zipping up his trousers when Philip takes a step inside, jolting when he realises Henry is still half-naked. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you said come in.”

“Not _quite_ ,” he chokes out, giving a fleeting glance towards Alex. Still behind the door, he has two hands covering his mouth so he doesn’t start laughing, standing there in only his underwear. “What can I do for you, Pip?”

Philip straightens up, recovering from his initial surprise. He’s already dressed for the day and though the light royal blue suit he’s wearing is a little boring (Alex may have had a point about the way they dressed sometimes, though Henry has tried to stray away from the habit since moving to the US), it’s much brighter than any of the clothes he wears on most occasions. Henry only hopes he allows his demeanour to match for the day. “Right. Remember the favour I talked about last night?”

“You never told me what it was.”

“Yes, I wanted to be certain I could take care of what I promised you first.”

Henry’s hands curl into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palm. “Did you?” He sees Alex looking at him from the corner of his vision but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he searches Philip’s face for any sign of emotion, be it anger or annoyance. Careful neutrality has taken over his features as he hesitates, and it frustrates Henry to no end.

“I did.” He shakes his head in a short, quick movement like he’s remembering something unpleasant. “I didn’t tell him why, though I imagine he must have understood.”

A weight he didn’t know he still carried is lifted from his shoulders and he plops down into the bed, leaning against one of the bedposts. “ _Thank_ you,” he says, the barest tilt to his lips. Alex gives him a huge smile and a thumbs-up, still cowering behind the door. It makes his own spread more genuinely, but he still looks at his brother with some apprehension. “Was it a lot of trouble?”

Philip frowns. “He was not _pleased_ about it. Seeing as I’m rather angry at him, however, I cannot bring myself to care. So don’t fret over it. If you do feel like making some amends, perhaps you’d consider the favour?”

“What is it?” 

Philip moves to come inside. 

Henry’s hand shoots up to stop him, and he scrambles to add, “I-I really should get ready so why don’t you tell me what I can do for you and go? I’d rather not be late again.”

Philip stops, wide-eyed at the sudden outburst, while Alex, the bastard, has his head against the wall, laughing with no sound. “All… right. Well, the press didn’t know the names of the godparents, so getting rid of Theodore is not going to cause much of a commotion. What they do know is the _number_ of them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Alex’s eyes widen, suddenly at attention again, though Henry can’t figure out why.

“Oh, yes, no, that’s not—It’s not a problem.” A hint of colour tints his cheeks, and he shifts his weight around, uncomfortable all of the sudden. “What I was, err, thinking was that _perhaps_ … one of you would be willing to do it in his stead.”

Alex whirls around so fast, his knuckles bump against the door.

“ _One_ of us?” Henry asks, too loud, so Philip won’t notice the sudden thump.

Luckily for them, Philip is too uncomfortable to pay attention. “Yes, I thought—I know Alexander doesn’t _like_ me but he likes Arthur, and the feeling, as I understand, is mutual, as much as it can be when talking about an infant, of course. I mean, I would rather it be you, but I wouldn’t be opposed—If you’re certain that you two will stay together— _not that I don’t think that you would_ , it would just be awkward if…”

Henry smiles, then chuckles as Philip rambles on until at last, he decides to put him out of his misery. “Pip, I get it.” Philip shuts up and nods, a question in his gaze. “Is that what you want? Are you sure?”

Philip’s stance eases, his expression softening just enough to be noticeable. “Of course.” The earnestness in those two words makes his throat close up. They wouldn’t have dreamed of this before Arty was born. “Besides, if…” Philip clears his throat, scowling for a second before he schools his face again. “If something were to happen to both Martha and me, well… you two are our favourite babysitters.”

Alex gapes from behind the door. Henry can’t quite get the words out. “You—you’d want us to…?”

“I… You love my son a lot. And each other. It would not be the worst thing, wouldn’t you agree?” Philip huffs at Henry’s dumbfounded expression. “I have already asked you to help me with raising him, Henry, why are you so surprised now?”

“Because your son is also the future King of England?”

“We’re talking about a hypothetical future scenario that hopefully won’t actually come to pass. And you don’t _have_ to do it. All I’m saying is…” He inhales deeply, exhaling through his nose before he meets his gaze. “I trust you. I want you to do it. Honestly, after everything that’s happened, it was foolish of me not to ask _you_ from the beginning.”

He doesn’t allow himself to imagine this future scenario. The logistics, practical and emotional alike, are enough to make him spiral. He can’t process Philip’s words either, so far from where they once were, even if he knows that when it comes to the baby they have the most unlikely truce, born of a shared desire to give the youngest member of their family a better childhood than their own.

He searches for Alex, only to see a troubled look on his face, and when their eyes meet, he mouths only one name, probably because ‘what’s-his-face’ is too hard to lip-read in this context. Henry understands.

“Philip?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Does that mean you were going to give Arty to Theo?”

“Oh, Lord, no. Adelaide definitely ranked higher than him.” 

Henry laughs and he follows in a more subdued manner. 

“So, we’re all right, then? I’ll see you at the christening?”

“Yes. Thank you, Pip.”

Only when Philip shuts the door behind him, does Alex push himself away from the wall, erupting into laughter. “I should have let him see me. _Just_ to see what he’ll do.”

“You _are_ a menace. Do you want to raise the king of England that much?”

“You thought you’d take back the colonies. Joke’s on you, we’ll take the motherland back from the inside out.”

Ten minutes later, it occurs to him with a short delay that he has no idea what a godparent is supposed to do during the christening. Another thing Philip neglected to mention.

Bea laughs when they call her on the phone for help.

“Maybe Philip attended one before and assumed you did, too?” she says, still laughing.

“Which one? _Mine_?”

Ever the helpful sibling, she pulls up the _official Church of England’s website_ , finds the section on christenings, and reads out the process of the ceremony step-by-step, so helpfully provided for clueless godparents. Henry puts her on speakerphone and tries to retain a single word of what she’s saying as he finishes getting ready, while Alex stares at the phone, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You look like you have a lot to say about this,” Henry says, planting a quick kiss to his cheek as he rushes about the room for his tie.

“No, no. If it looks stupid and it works, it’s not stupid, right?”

“Thanks.”

Bea waits for them downstairs and they all head to the chapel together. By the time they arrive, he's certain he’s forgotten everything she so diligently read to him over the phone and he's never been more glad to see his cousin Addie than when she pulls him into a tight hug and tells him how excited she is for the change and how he can just look at her for what to do. Grace, Martha's contribution to this odd group approaches them as well, confused about the switch but supportive enough, smiling at him with some hesitation. Then again, her slight awkwardness around him might have something to do with how they were once pushed to date. Or that he bolted out of the room the day before and then a godparent subsequently was never heard of again.

Martha shows up next, kissing them both on the cheeks. She looks absolutely radiant despite the strict royal dress code, glowing with happiness as she cradles her son in her arms. Arty is clad in white, a picture-perfect goofy smile on his face, looking pleased with all the attention.

"Now," Martha says, throwing Alex a serious look that looks only half-mocking. "There will be a reception afterward. And the only time I want to see either of you near the cake is when someone else brings you your own piece to eat."

Henry gives her an apologetic smile while Alex groans at the reminder. "How many times do I need to apologise—"

"I don't recall you ever apologising actually. Warning issued. You don't want to interfere with my reception a second time, Mr. Claremont-Diaz."

Neither of them doubts her.

They make small talk for a while, and Catherine and Bea join them. His mum gives him a lingering hug, the way she used to hold him when he was young and couldn't bring himself to admit why he needed comfort yet she knew he craved it anyway. He shoots a panicked look at Bea behind her back but she shakes her head. Catherine has probably figured out something has gone awry and, to the surprise of no one, somehow Henry is placed in the middle of it again.

"It's really sweet that you're doing this for your brother, my love," his mum says as she pulls back, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek, an affectionate smile brightening her features.

Henry tries to brush it off before the conversation wavers towards what Philip had to do for him first. "Technically I'm doing it for Arty."

She hums in thought, an eyebrow raised pointedly. "Well, in that case, I'm glad you found some common ground."

He bites back the _I know_ that springs to his mind. It’s no secret how much their mum enjoys seeing her children present a united front every once in a while. Of course, she's never there to see what happens in the background of their truces, all the heart-tearing and the honesty that burns like shame up their throats. It _is_ nice but it costs them, and they can only hope, or blindly trust in each other, that one day the price will be easier to bear, their scars healed in white lines, nothing but a gentle reminder of what they stand to lose.

A hand falls on his shoulder and he turns to see Philip, his chest full with anticipation. "It's time. They're calling us inside." He shifts his attention to Henry, his expression catching a tenser edge to it. "All is well? Are you ready?"

Numbly, he nods and the next few moments pass by in a blur. Martha grins at him as she passes Arty over to him and it's far too late to say that maybe the girls should hold him instead because he has no idea what to do.

"I'll go sit with Bea and your mom," Alex says, stretching to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Enjoy your moment, little man," he adds, rubbing the baby's belly until he giggles happily. The sound wakes him up a bit as he's ushered forward towards the chapel.

Grace and Addie each take a side, modest smiles on their faces that Henry attempts to copy through the anxiety. Philip and Martha also join them on his left. His brother must notice, for he gives a minuscule shake of his head in question. Henry nods, pretending Philip asked him something else entirely.

The ceremony begins. The godparents and parents are asked to step forward. Promises are given, of faith, of guidance. Henry doubts the Anglican Church wants _him,_ in particular _,_ to guide the child forward but as he looks down into his arms and catches Arty staring at him, vibrant blue eyes so much like his own peering at him despite all the excitement, Henry vows to do it, anyway. He winks, delighting when the baby smiles in response. _I got you_ , he thinks. _You'll be fine, I got you._

They soak the poor babe’s head, then mark him with oil (where Addie spared him from utter embarrassment by doing it for them). Henry's eyes search the crowd and he finds Alex grinning at him, giving him twin thumbs up, next to Bea, who nods at him. 

He breathes.

Before he knows it the ceremony is over, Arty is back in his mother's arms, and an intense number of strangers are shaking his hand, giving congratulations and well-wishes as if the baby is his. Philip's words from earlier resurface, forcing another layer of false politeness over his expression. He won't go there. Chances are they're never going to have to even consider it. Not the political clusterfuck that would be nor the emotional fallout of such a possibility.

He doesn’t want to dwell on those thoughts, for he knows they’re like quicksand in his mind; one wrong step could drown him. Bea finds him right on time, throwing her arms around his shoulders long enough to ground him. "Are you all right, darling? You can relax now, it's over."

"Yes, of course. It was fine, wasn't it?"

"It was perfect." She stretches on her tiptoes, reaching as if to kiss him, but whispers in his ear, "Martha told me she handed Arty to you because you keep him calm. He was so good during the ceremony because he was with you."

Henry pulls back. Favourite babysitters, indeed. He doesn't feel so well. 

What exactly did he sign up for?

"Hen, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, truly. Just... a stupid thing Philip said earlier, it sort of stuck with me."

Bea's gaze darkens immediately, her shoulders turning rigid as she searches the crowd for her brother. Henry realises his mistake.

"No, _no_. Not that kind. Really, it's nothing."

Before they can say anything else, Alex finds him, pulling him into a hug, telling him how cute he was with the baby, how much his mother was fawning over them during the ceremony. Henry returns the embrace, holding tightly and for a moment too long. No matter what happens, he reminds himself, he's not going to be alone. Alex wouldn't leave him alone.

They move from the chapel to the palace to hold the reception. It's thankfully a much smaller affair than the wedding; there aren't even any press there save for the photographer they hired themselves for the process.

Some of Philip's friends show up, familiar faces that bring a bad taste to the back of his mouth, though they're nothing compared to the blast from the past of the night before. And he can handle them better too, when their image hasn't been chained in his mind to feelings of weakness or inferiority. When some of the more... traditional guests give him and Alex a side look, Henry has found within him the well-earned audacity to meet their gaze, defiant and unafraid. They completely ignore the rule about public displays of affection between members of the royal household and he's pleased to see at least a small part of the behaviour rubs off on his brother too when he leans to kiss his wife, uncaring of who watches. It's a gentle, quick gesture but it's more than they're usually allowed.

He was lucky enough not to run into Queen Mary at the church (either that or his family carefully orchestrated it). She finds him now, eyes cold, voice enriched only to judge. She's hated him more ever since the last few times he's been to England and the further down that pit they go the harder it is to remember a time when she didn't despise him so. That's fine though. He doesn’t care to hold on to a memory like that.

She half-heartedly congratulates him on a job well-done, not without a comment on how Philip must be a little mad to think Henry could provide any sort of "untainted spiritual guidance” to the child or how she hopes he "wouldn't let his personal _afflictions_ become an influence to the future King". Henry wonders what's a diplomatic way to say that maybe England would benefit from a different kind of King when she continues. "At least your brother managed to do what was expected. Married well and produced heirs."

Henry shares a look with Alex, who looks one moment away from either having a stroke or finally throwing that punch he's been building for two days, and he gives her the biggest, most pretend smile he can conjure. "We'll get right on that."

They excuse themselves before Alex starts laughing at the look on her face.

As they make their way back to their seats, however, Alex tugs on their intertwined hands, turning Henry around to face him. "What if we did?" he asks, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Did what?"

"Got 'right on that'."

Henry freezes, squeezing unconsciously on the hand he’s holding. "... get married?"

"Or the other thing." There's no way to know what sort of expression he's wearing but Alex’s smile softens, beautiful brown eyes bright and focused only on him. He wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, pulling him closer. "Sweetheart..." he says, cocking his head. "Don’t freak out, it's just an idea."

"But you're thinking about it?"

"I mean... yeah? We talked about this when AC was born too, remember?" They had but he never had the time... "It's just an idea," he repeats. "But I swear every time I see you holding the baby, it does something to me, Hen. You’d make the greatest, dorkiest dad and I can't help but think what it'd be like, you know?"

He knows. He knows the warm feeling in his chest when Alex plays with their nephew. The butterflies in his stomach, like another side to being in love he never knew was there to discover.

"Sorry," Alex backtracks, mistaking his silence for a rejection. "I didn't mean to—"

Henry leans down to kiss him, cutting off the rest of his words. He feels Alex grin against him, tastes his breath in his laugh. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Out of nowhere, Alex’s eyes widen and he lets out a low swear. "Shit, I just realised! Philip!" He yells, calling out to him as he approaches them. Henry startles. He turns to see an equally shocked expression on Philip's face. He's not sure Alex has ever addressed him directly.

"Yes...?" Philip dares, coming to stand next to them. "Is something wrong?"

"I can't _believe_ you didn't give your son a third name!"

Philip looks at Henry for help but he's just as lost. "I... I was under the impression that the fewer names the better."

"Yeah, but if you gave him a third name that started with a D his initials would be ACD!"

"Alex, oh my God."

Lunch at the reception is a much livelier affair than the previous night's dinner. He and Alex sit next to his mum, so he gets to listen in as Alex helps her catch up to what they've been doing in New York until the pride in his voice as he talks about the youth shelters gets too much for Henry to handle and he turns to Bea on his other side to distract him.

Martha makes a toast to her son, her family, old and new. Henry is surprised Philip isn't the one giving the little speech, and it definitely irks the Queen to no end. When he looks at his brother though, he sees the look he gives his wife. Once more, he's struck by how well he managed to find a source of light, even in the tight box he forced himself in. Two sources now, he supposes.

Halfway through lunch, he excuses himself to head to the restroom. The attention is getting a bit too hot under his collar and all the life-changing conversations he's had that day didn't mix well with the wine. They keep swirling around his head, drawing curtains and opening windows in his mind, shedding light on possibilities he'd rather keep safely hidden for now.

He’s washing his hands, resisting the urge to splash some water on his face when the locked door rattles behind him. “One moment, please,” he calls, but it shakes again. Curious, he clicks the door open.

He's not prepared to see Theo outside, in a tailored white suit worn over a black shirt, brown hair tastefully tousled, his eyes gleaming with intent as he stares into him. A pang of anxiety ripples from his stomach, and he takes a step backward, leaning against the basin.

Theo always loved sneaking into places he shouldn't be allowed into.

“Are you actually going to talk to me now?” he asks. A crooked smile forms on his lips, sharp and self-satisfied.

Henry searches for the same defiance he used with Philip’s other unfortunate acquaintances or the bite he had the night before, yet all he can find is the fear that chased him out of the dinner party to wallow in his own regret.

“You don’t need to look so scared, darling.” His voice is smooth like lush velvet and he takes a step closer towards him, his movements slow, calculated. He’s in his game, this is what he does. Two layers of charm to hide the dishonesty, the mischief peeking just enough to make him interesting.

"You're not welcome here anymore. You need to leave."

"Philip never rescinded my invitation. As far as I or you should be concerned, he never said not to come." His shrug is boyish and nonchalant, portraying the same kind of casual disinterest of the rules that once made him attractive. He never considered what it would look like used against him.

“All right, well, you should consider leaving, anyway.”

Henry tries to move past him, but Theo takes a step to the side, blocking his exit. “Do you really not have a moment to spare so we can talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you, please move away. Let’s not cause a scene.”

He steps out of his path, and that should have been the first sign to brace himself for what’s to come. "We can't even talk for a moment, Hen?" Theo asks, his voice holding a challenge Henry doesn't want to hear. "Are you going to prove me right, then?"

And despite himself, Henry pauses. One step out the door, back towards him, he pauses. "Right about what?" Regret falls bitter on his tongue, replacing the weight of the words he failed to hold back.

"That you're a bloody coward, darling."

Henry whirls around to face him, face crumpled with hurt. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t move closer. No, Theo crosses his arms in front of himself, leaning against the door frame, letting Henry come to _him_. "Not once have you had the guts to talk to me yourself. First, it was Shaan. Now you send Philip to do your dirty work—I mean, _Philip_? What did you tell him, Hen? That I'm a terrible villain that lured you into a life of sodomy?"

"I-"

"You claimed some things are worth fighting for. I wonder if you have any idea what that means.” He cocks his head to the side, feigning concern. “Tell me how much of your relationship with Alex was you fighting and not him?"

"Be quiet!" Henry hisses. "How _dare_ you."

Theo straightens his back, his perfect expression twitching. Henry is not seventeen anymore and he’s got all of the fight Theo didn’t dare to give.

He steps forward, his words all burned edges and poisoned undertones. "How _fucking dare you._ Fighting for something isn't sneaking in and out of rooms because you like the game, because it excites you to steal moments and feelings and _people_. If I recall correctly, _you're_ the one who never once considered being anything but a dirty secret. _You’re_ the one who kept me behind locked doors, in shadowed corners. Don't tell me I don’t know how to fight and don’t you _bloody dare_ get mad at me because you wanted a game I didn’t want to play."

He doesn’t notice how close he's gotten until Theo reaches out a hand and manages to touch him, a tight, possessive grip on the bottom on his chin, capturing his attention by force. His breath smells like cinnamon and spice, from that stupid gum he always chewed on when no one was watching. And there’s burning behind his eyes, the kind that used to make Henry weak at the knees; now he just wants to get away from it. 

Calmly as if he owns the world and everything he touches, Theo says, "I think you did."

Henry’s pulse quickens in his ears, heat travelling from his stomach up his neck. The sudden rush of blood leaves him panicked and lightheaded. "Don't—"

Before he can slap his hand away, Theo is pushed backward, stumbling. 

Henry jumps as he sees Alex there, Shaan on his side, flanked by Philip and Bea.

"You got a problem, pal?" Alex seethes.

"I believe it was made clear to you that you're not welcome here, Mr. Cardale," says Bea, her voice cold with icy fury.

"Yeah, so scram.”

Theo brushes himself off, a pointed look aimed towards Alex. It doesn't quite reach a glare but it's heavy and lit up with pent-up emotion. "You're causing a scene."

"Oh, I'll cause a bigger one. You think I'm scared of a scandal? Look who you're talking to."

He smiles, revealing the barest hint of teeth as he turns to Henry, chuckling softly. Henry wants to punch that look off his face. "Seriously?" He laughs, the sound grating against Henry's ears, sending his pressure spiking.

“Mr. Cardale, I must escort you outside,” Shaan warns, looking more than willing to do just that.

Henry curls his fingers around Alex's sleeve and tries to drag him away. "Let's just go," he mutters, barely audible in a last-ditch effort to avoid a screaming match. Alex lets him lead, and he thinks maybe they’ll end it there when Theo continues.

" _This_ is where you've ended up? Letting a mindless American _brute_ —"

It builds up in him, eight years of pent-up hurt and frustration and regret flaring in a second. and they guide him before his mind can process what he’s doing. No consequences, no image, no civility matters, but the sound of Theo’s hateful words in his ears and all the indignation he’s held on to for his trampled pride. 

And they all connect with a terrible _crack_ , skin on skin and bone to bone to shatter all illusions and outdated feelings.

The sound hangs in the space between them, masking the gasps that followed it. 

Theo is wide-eyed and red in the face, holding his hurt cheek, trying to muffle a pained groan.

Everyone else stares at Henry instead.

He gives Theo his best, mocking, tight-lipped smile as he very pointedly shakes the pain off his hand. “Oh, I apologize. It must be all that brutish, American influence." He barely feels it over the rush in his chest.

Alex lets out a shocked laugh, mouth agape yet grinning. " _Baby_ ," he says and if he means it to sound like a reprimand, he fails when all that audible pride seeps into it.

Bea shakes her head in joyful disbelief. “I suggest you leave now, otherwise it’s my turn to practice Shaan’s lessons.”

At the mention, Henry turns to Shaan, an eyebrow raised in question. Shaan tilts his head in a nod. "Impeccable form, Sir, well done."

Henry tenses when Philip steps towards them. And yet, he stops by his side, levelling his stare not at him but at Theo, who has recovered from the initial shock and looks about ready to drop the plastered pretence and send them all to hell. "Mr. Srivastava, you can escort Theodore out of the premises. You will make sure to use the more obscure exits to keep this little incident discreet, won't you?"

Theo scoffs. "You believe people won't find out about this, Pip?"

Philip doesn't miss a beat, and for the first time, Henry actually believes he might have been honest the night before when he said he had no problem with Alex throwing a punch or two. For once, Philip's obsession with clearing up their image comes as an advantage to him.

"No, they will not. Because you won't tell anyone. If you do, people will put two and two together. And while I'm not thrilled with the idea of Henry being involved in yet another scandal, people already know that he held some sort of relationship with one of my colleagues. You, on the other hand?"

Henry shivers at the coldness in his voice, the frost in it familiar in all the wrong ways. It’s impossible to comprehend that it’s _protecting_ him.

"How do you think your reputation will survive? A twenty-three-year-old seducing the teenage prince?"

"I didn't seduce—"

"Do you think it _matters_?"

Theo pales. For all that he's said Philip finding out about them would destroy him, this might be the first time that either of them truly understands what that meant. It's terrifying. The knowledge of how the press works has been drilled into Philip with both theory and experience. He knows how their lives are picked apart and glued together wrong, moving the pieces so they portray the image someone else wants of them that’s not always, or ever, the truth. And as he knows to work this outrageous part of their reality, he can turn it around and _use_ it.

Philip tilts his head upward, looking down at Theo and at the rapid way with which his ‘fight’ abandons him. "So now, you're going to leave because there are two ways for security to escort you outside and I'm being beyond generous to be offering you the easy one."

They don’t stick around to see Shaan more than willingly carry out his orders. Bea threads her arm with Philip’s and leads him back to the table, saying something about how it’s about time he used some of his more questionable skills _for_ them instead of against them.

Henry and Alex follow closely behind, with Alex’s hand placed firmly into the back pocket of Henry’s trousers for as long as he can get away with it.

“Not going to lie, that was, like, extremely attractive. Have you ever even punched anyone before?”

“Not that I recall.”

Alex looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Did you hurt your hand?”

“I mean, faces are _hard,_ Alex.” He raises an eyebrow until Henry sighs, “Yes, a bit.”

“Sweetheart…” Alex drags the word, soft around the vowels in a way he knows makes Henry melt. He takes his hand in his own and brings it to his lips. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He presses short, butterfly kisses to his knuckles, and rubs gently on the skin with his thumb. “Better?”

“Much,” Henry sighs. His chest aches, overwhelmed with emotion, no matter how positive. Alex frowns at the tone, at his eyes that must look distinctly sad “I just.. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He takes Henry’s face in his hands and pulls him closer, foreheads touching. “And I could see you stressing about what I said—I’m sorry, baby. That wasn’t the point of what I said. I know it’s going to be complicated and really fucking hard; it was part of the reason why we never got married either. But we can do it, step by stubborn step, and we’ll do it at our own pace. Whenever you want to discuss it—if ever—I’m here. That’s all you need to take from it.”

Henry closes the distance between their lips. “We will,” he whispers, careful in the tenderness after their kiss. “I want to. I want to so much. But I just need some time to deal with everything. The past few months have been… exhausting.”

“I know, you’re right, you’re right. Let’s go back to the table. Enjoy about fifteen minutes of peace before something else bad happens.”

“ _Alex_.”

Despite their bad luck, the rest of the event goes smoothly. Martha toasts to them when the cake is served, thanking them for doing her the favour of letting everyone actually try it this time. To which, of course, Bea leans in to whisper, careful so their mum doesn’t overhear, “It’s a good thing Henry was the one who snapped at Theo, because I’m guessing Alex would have shoved him in the cake instead.”

“I’m sorry, you think _I_ was at fault for the cake thing?”

“You were!” Henry protests.

“If Martha wasn’t watching I’d shove this cake in your face too.”

“So you agree.”

“I do not!”

They all end up a little too high on the tipsy scale, especially after the Queen excuses herself and leaves. They speak more freely then, laugh more loudly than before. At some point, he wanders over to where Philip is sitting and settles down next to him.

“Thanks for… defending me, I guess,” he says, loosening the collar of his tie. “I wasn’t… happy about the way you spoke about me, but I understand why you did it, and it truly did help. Thank you.”

Philip glanced at him as he approached, but now he doesn’t look up from the glass in his hands. “Beatrice said… that it was about time I used my ‘abhorrent behaviour’ to be on your side for once. Is that also how you feel?”

Henry frowns, tracing Philip’s turning of the glass with his eyes. “I suppose. Why? I think she meant it as a good thing.”

“Oh, I’m certain she did. It pleased me. I think.” He finally sets the glass down on the side, before he shifts in his seat to turn his full attention on Henry. “So. Anything else I ought to know? Any other uncomfortable discussions we need to have?”

Probably a thousand. But it’s never the talking that bridges things between them, though the better understanding it brings deepens the foundations, holding them steady against the rushing river of all the little things that could break them apart. It was never the talking, but the way Philip deflected the Queen’s reprimands when they were late at the hospital. It was Henry letting him use their father’s name and learning to say it in this context. The three of them working together for a solution to that disaster that almost brought their lives to the ground. Philip getting rid of Theo and Henry standing in his place.

It was never the apology that helped Henry believe Philip wanted to change.

But there was still one thing that troubled him too much for him to keep quiet. “No. _Yes_. Pip, could you perhaps try your hardest not to die?”

Philip huffs a shocked laugh, staring at Henry like he’s lost it. “Why do you still care? You’re no longer the… Oh. Is this about what I said earlier?” His nose scrunches up, a pained scowl on his face. “That was. That was _supposed_ to be encouraging. It wasn’t meant to stress you out.”

Perhaps it’s that last glass of wine that made it one too many, but Henry chuckles, red on the cheeks. He rubs a hand across his face, groaning in embarrassment.

“I… I said what I said because you seemed uncertain that you were the right person for the task. I thought, perhaps a little naively, that it would help you to know that. I wasn’t lying, but no one is asking this of you.”

“No, of course not. That makes sense. It’s been… it’s been a day and a half, honestly.” Philip’s expression twitches into a half-smile, brows raised in surprise. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to avoid Henry’s questioning gaze. “Well. You were so stressed about this… and you still went ahead with it?”

“Oh. I was _hoping_ you wouldn’t die. Besides, ‘if you kill him, you’ll end up having to raise the King of England’ might do a good job of protecting you from Alex.”

Philip laughs a short huff of air through his nose. He gets up, patting Henry on the shoulder as he leaves. “I deserve that.”

“Baby steps, Pip.” They seemed to be working for them, after all.

Henry sits back on his chair, content to watch his family around him, revelling in a long-coveted moment of peace. Bea talking to their mum, their soft laughter drifting all the way over to him. Martha and Philip orbiting close together, sharing looks where they can’t share touches, but seeming at ease in each other’s presence all the same. Alex has somehow gotten hold of Arty, lifting him up, making him giggle. He watches them for a few seconds, but he can’t resist joining them for long.

Alex notices him and grins, mirroring the huge smile on his own face. He whispers something to Arty in Spanish that Henry’s not sure he wants to know, and makes the baby give a little wave. 

Henry’s heart swells in his chest. 

“What’s with that face, Uncle Henry? Happy to see us?”

Henry leans down to leave a kiss onto the baby’s blond tufts, then a significantly longer one on Alex’s lips.

“You want him?” Alex asks as he takes a seat next to them. “You’re so popular today, little buddy,” he coos, giving him a little wiggle. “Yes, you are.” When Henry remains quiet, he turns to him, brows slightly furrowed. “Something wrong?”

He shakes his head, sighing. “Not a single thing.” 

And he thinks maybe, not today but one day soon, they can start talking about all the things Alex wants to talk about. So what if it is difficult? The trouble always ends up worth it, if this is where it leads them. Baby steps. Better things are on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAaaand we're done? Phew. Hey, that means I can start a new story ~
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. This was a looong chapter, so I would absolutely love it if you told me what you thought of it! And P.S.: the interconnected chapters in 'those markings' (affectionately(-ish?) referred to as the 'stairs' fic) is within this universe, and takes place probably not too long after this. So if you haven't read it already, you know, give it a look ;) 
> 
> Again, please let me know what you thought and, of course, come find me on tumblr @ saltfics !

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So this shouldn't be *too* long, the plan is three chapters, four if I get carried away though I think I can stick to three. Please let me know if you liked it/ if you're interested in this!!
> 
> As always find me on tumblr @ saltfics! Till next time~!


End file.
